Just a Number
by WarriorFallsFox5
Summary: When thirteen-year-old Brooke is reaped from District 8, she is shocked to find that she is one of the oldest tributes selected. The gamemakers have unleashed a dangerous twist into the Fifth Quell. A twist which, in the eyes of the Districts, spark fury, but in Brooke, sparks hope.
1. Prelogue

"In remembrance of how many young lives were lost during the Great Rebillions, this year's tributes will be selected from the ages of 8 and 14."

 **This story is almost entirely a Hunger Games fanfiction, however, there will be a small Lord of The Flies theme later on (it's hard to explain) as well as subtle other crossovers which I haven't worked out the details of yet.** **However, I'd say it's about 95% Hunger Games.**

Prologue

Brooke could hear it coming.

She could hear the... the _thing_ scrabbling in the darkness, searching for her. Its black arms clawed at the trees, its slow heartbeat pumped in the silence.

She felt tears pick her eyes. It seemed like they wanted her dead.

 _Of course they do._ Brooke's sarcastic conscience sneered inside her head. _After what happened with Lumi, they hate your guts._

Her tongue was dry and the blood from her throat had dried onto her lips. Her chestnut hair was wet and ragged, hanging down by her shoulders in clumps. She was a mess, and she knew it.

 _You'll_ _be even more of a mess after it's done with you._

She felt a warm, sticky tear run down her cheek and onto her neck. _Shut up. Shut up. You don't know anything... You don't know me... You don't know who I am..._


	2. Chapter 1 - Cotton Fields

The Cotton Fields were, to Brooke, the worst place in the whole of Panem. Though she was, officially, a member of District 8, she spent her time there... Halfway between 8 and 11.

The Cotton Field were, in a way, a District on their own. After the old Capitol was destroyed by the Second Great Rebellion, there had been a devastating shortage of resources throughout Panem. The remnants of 12 was forced to join 9 and 11 in the food industry, and 13 took over the coal duties.

District 8 was suddenly given the responsibility of harvesting the cotton as well as processing it, as 11 was too busy growing food for the hungry.

And that was the birth of the Cotton Fields. A vast collection of cracked dirt fields, surrounded by a town of run-down homes. The Fields were vaguely circular, and in the very centre was the Peace centre. From their tall white nest, the Peacemakers could look down onto everyone and everything.

In the sweltering heat, Brooke sighed. The history of the Fields was the only thing they ever taught her at school. She yearned to know about the rest of Panem.

In her head, she imagined it as a magical place, advanced and innovative. She had no way of knowing the reality... Panem was just as bad as it had been before the Rebellion.

She felt a slight throb in a finger. A blister. At her school, they always said that the Fields were one of the nicest places to live in the Underdistricts.

Brooke looked around at the dry dirt fields, the untidy rows of bright cotton, and the shimmering heatwaves dancing in the sky. In the distance, she could see the corpse of a worker who collapsed at noon the day before. Nobody had bothered to move his body.

 _If this is the best place in the Underdistricts, the rest must be horrible._ Brooke mused as she picked the delicate cotton from the bushes. _Why couldn't I have been born in 4, or 2, or even the Capitol?_

Midday was approaching. The sun, at noon, was merciless. Heatstroke was the most common cause of death in the Fields. The second was suicide.

 **I'm not yet happy with this chapter, so I will come back in change it if I have time / can be bothered.**


	3. Chapter 2 - Homeless

As Autumn approached, the Reaping day grew ever nearer. Being reaped was one of Brooke's greatest fears. The possibility that this year could be the last was always a nagging worry at the back of her mind.

She didn't really have any other worries. She didn't have anyone to worry about.

Brooke's family were dead. They'd died when she was young, and she was supposed to be living in the orphanage until she was eighteen.

However, she'd heard plenty of tales about how awful the orphanage was, so instead decided to run away and become homeless.

It wasn't really that bad... The peacemakers gave out a meagre supply of bread to the homeless for free. Brooke never had to sign up for tesserae because of this.

The only thing she hated about living in the alleyways of The Fields was that she was desperately lonely. She would've killed to have a family of her own. She sometimes slept behind Greenwood Manor, where the mayoress lived with her twin boys. Occasionally, Brooke spied through the window and watched what they were up to to pass the time. She always saw them laughing and talking to each other. They loved each other, and Brooke was bitter with jealousy.


	4. Chapter 4 - The Reaping

Eventually, the dreaded morning arrived. Brooke lay on her cold stone bed and looked up at the sky above her. She slowly processed that it was reaping day, but she didn't get up like she knew she was supposed to. Not yet. She thought about all the recent games...

Once the entire arena was just water, with no land. The tributes who couldn't swim were dead in a minute. Occasionally, the gamemakers sent in piranhas and deadly sharks to liven things up. Those games were over in a day.

Another time, some of the tributes went insane, and started gruesomely mutilating their victims after they killed them. One of them eventually won the games. The thing was, once they got him into the hovercraft, he threw up, and then was completely sane. It turned out that there was a strange fruit in the arena that some of the tributes had been eating, and they were the ones who went weird. When the poor kid vomited up the fruit, he was fine. There was a big scandal that the Capitol had modified the fruits in order to make the tributes go insane, to spice up the games a little.

Brooke had butterflies wriggling in her stomach. No, not butterflies. They were like dragons. She didn't stand a chance if she was put in the games. A 13 year old against a 17 year old would never end well.

She slowly rose, and started walking to the reaping despite the urge to run away from the square. Even the homeless were part of the reaping, and she knew that if she didn't turn up, they'd beat her, kill her or worse.

The square was full to bursting, as usual. It was the only part of the fields other than the peacemaking nest which was vaguely presentable. The walls were stone, but an interesting stone with fossils embedded into it. The floor was marble, streaked with mud and filth, but attractive nonetheless.

People piled in, children with dirty faces and dangerous frowns. Although they were still District 8, people treated the Fields kids like a whole other district. They were unpredictable in the games, and although they'd never won it, they'd come pretty close.

Savannah Curelle, the pompous announced, started giving a half-hearted speech about honour or something like that. No one payed attention to her drab voice, not even the mayoress. The problem was, that in the games, sponsors didn't either.

She finally go to the end of her tedious speech, and was about to pick up a name slip, when the mayoress interrupted. They whispered for a while. Savannah turned to the crowd, smiled, and said,

"Well, dearie me! I almost forgot.. It's the Quarter Quell this year! We'll wait for President Paylor to make her speech first.

A shiver ran through Brooke. She thought the Capitol had abandoned the Quell after they skipped the 100th one. These were the 125th games.

President Paylor came up onto the screen. She'd been in charge for near 50 years, and the age was clear in her wrinkled, shrivelled appearance. Her eyes no longer shone with the fire of a Rebellion leader. It was sad.

"The Quarter Quell tradition was skipped last time because the country was still lamenting over the atrocities of the Mockingjay Rebellion. This time, however, we will carry on the tradition to show how terrible the two Rebellions were.

So, without further ado, I will announce this year'sQuarter Quell.

In memory of how many young lives were lost at the bombing of the Palace Gates, this year's tributes will be selected from the ages of 8 and 14. Parents with children in these categories have two hours to bring them to the reaping centre. "


End file.
